


Ringing in the Silence

by Lady_Katana4544



Series: mini_wrimo 2015 [8]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, One Shot, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:24:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5188553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Katana4544/pseuds/Lady_Katana4544
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <s>This was not the planned writing for the evening. How even~</s>
</p>
    </blockquote>





	Ringing in the Silence

**Author's Note:**

> ~~This was not the planned writing for the evening. How even~~~

In the distance he can hear the feasting songs as the Dwarves celebrate their new king and the reclaiming of Erebor. He made an appearance, but didn’t have the heart to stay among them even as he met the sad knowing eyes of Balin before slipping away. 

The humming of the funeral hymms still ring through the loud silence in his head as he stands there with their dead that have been placed in Erebor’s tombs. Some will stay in the mountain while others will be making the journey back to the Iron Hills.

He will have to send for his own son to join him as well.

The crown is heavy on his head and seems only to grow heavier more as his feet takes him towards three stone biers in particular. He walks among them now on silent feet, the funeral hymms and the swishing of the royal robes he wears now, the only sounds that curl around him.

This was not what he pictured happening when he and his men had come to aid his cousin, once Thorin had called for him.

He had pictured riding in to help save the day, giving needed aid, and support to his Cousin. Then afterwards swearing an oath perhaps to Erebor’s newest King and his Crown Prince.

Except now he has a new mess on his hands, a new mountain to clean up then turn into a kingdom again. And neighbors to make nicey nicey with. Two different mountains of problems deal with, not the sort of thing he had ever wanted in his lifetime.

Silently he stands at the middle bier and stares at the deathly white face of his eldest cousin. How he wishes that this mountain could be Thorin’s for all time.

It had been his dream after all to reclaim Erebor from a fire breathing dragon for their people, not Dáin Ironfoot’s dream.

He remembers the days of when Erebor still belonged to King Thrór’s hand and of when Thorin had been younger and a bit less serious than he was now. Of the antics that young Frerin that would drag them all into before they were all inevitably caught by someone.

Memories also come forth of the things that Fíli and Kíli were rumored to get up. Things that their elders had gotten up to in the dark and shared secret smirks over that had young Dwarflings demanding to know what they were laughing about.

Blinking slowly he bows his head slightly, feeling ever grateful for the dim lighting of the area and their dancing shadows that disguise the tear tracks running down into his beard that he can not allow anyone else to witness in his moment of weakness.

“Thorin, you stubborn old fool. This should be you leading our people here, not me.”  
The funeral hymms seem to ring ever louder in the silence of his own fool head as he weeps silently.


End file.
